


Happy Birthday

by FlowerCrownOfPoppy



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gen, hell! au, i guess it's a modern au too but yeah, if u like demons then shhh just click
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 11:25:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1303132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlowerCrownOfPoppy/pseuds/FlowerCrownOfPoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peculiar circumstances and even more peculiar dreams have left Armin a confused, nervous wreck, and they only seem to get worse the closer it nears his 18th birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> A little idea that I churned out good couple of months ago and saw fit to post on here for record's sake. Tumblr doesn't exactly have the most friendly format for anything longer than a couple paragraphs.
> 
> Warning ahead for one homophobic slur. Enjoy!

When Armin Arlert is two years old his mother sets him down for an evening nap and walks out of the door with his father. No matter how much he wails for both of them in the night, they do not return. No one knows where they went and they remain listed as “missing” on the county board years later. Armin’s grandfather tells him this when he is old enough to understand, flipping through a book full of vivid pictures and diagrams of the sea.

"They’re never coming back, are they?" Armin mumbles, sliding his finger over the page. The ocean is very big and very scary, but also very beautiful. Armin thinks that someday he would like to swim with something much larger than himself, like a whale. When he looks up he sees his grandpa’s eyes are full of sadness.

“Your parents? No, Armin. I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head, “It’s been four years and even I…”

"Don’t know?" Armin concludes, and his eyes already contain more curiosity than the sea could hold.

"That’s right," his grandpa chortles, kissing the top of his head, "No one does."

This, Armin believes without question.

\- - - - - - - - -

Armin is seven years old and Eren Jaeger is unlike any boy he’s ever met. Most days they sit together on the living room floor with a blanket draped around their shoulders and rain softly splattering against the window. Armin reads aloud about the sea, the sky, the dinosaurs, and Eren’s eyes are always attentive, always interested. This is something Armin loves about Eren from day one.

"Sometimes it feels like I was born to meet you," Eren mumbles one evening into Armin’s shoulder. This is their evening nap ritual, reading to each other until the clock’s steady ticking lulls them to sleep.

"Huh?" Armin closes the book and pushes it aside, drawing the blanket more tightly around himself. "What was that?"

"I mean I’m just glad we’re friends, I guess," Eren huffs, pulling his head back to give Armin a look.

Armin giggles and says, “I’m glad we’re friends too, Eren.”

 _I was born to meet you_. These words, Armin never forgets.

\- - - - - - - - -

When he is nine years old Mikasa Ackerman is brought into their lives, though not entirely by choice. Armin hears all the hushed voices in the hallway about the little girl’s misfortune. Double homicide with a butcher’s knife, they whisper; her parents never had a chance.

"But your parents’ murderers died too, didn’t they? And no one knows who did it?" Armin inquires in a hushed tone, eyes wide and bright with horror.

"Mhm," Mikasa mutters, poking at her macaroni almost apathetically with a fork.

"I’m sorry I asked you about it in a crowded place like this," Armin says hastily, wringing his hands beneath the table, "I — "

"Armin, it’s okay. She’s just not very talkative in general. She knows you’re my friend," Eren reassures his friend as they munch on their modest lunches. The droning of 100 other children in this cafeteria is enough to drown out the words as soon as they leave his lips. Mikasa sits silently beside them, sharing a knowing glance with Eren. Armin feels queasiness settle in the pit of his gut and he pushes his tray aside.

\- - - - - - - - -

When Armin is twelve years old, three boys shove him into the ground and call him a faggot. The spit they leave on his face mingles with his tears by the time Eren and Mikasa arrive. But he is not crying from their words, he is crying from the gravel-encrusted scrapes on his arms. His eyes dry very quickly because he knows they are wrong, he is no longer alone. He’s made many friends since he entered middle school, friends who take him out for ice cream and watch campy horror movies together and call him smart without an ounce of sarcasm. The happiness he feels around them overwhelms the sadness he suffers in school and he soon forgets the incident.

A week later their science teacher tearfully announces that three students passed away in a car crash during the weekend. She displays their unblinking faces on the projector and asks for a moment of silence. Armin’s heart stops when he sees the three boys who bullied him staring back.

\- - - - - - - - -

Armin is fifteen years old when he awakes with a jolt from a terrible nightmare, shoulders shaking with every panicked breath. He is breathing so heavily he almost misses the tapping against his bedroom window, far too insistent to be a tree branch. When he turns his head he is eye to eye with a raven. It taps at the glass again and lets out a shrill caw, disappearing in a flurry of black feathers.

Armin pushes sweaty hair out of his face and pinches himself to make sure he isn’t still dreaming. He is willing to blame what he saw on sleep paralysis, on his overactive imagination, on _anything_ but reality, because it is physically impossible for a raven’s eyes to be that shade of red. He lays his head back down on his pillow and tries to push the image out of his mind but sleep does not return for the rest of the night. 

\- - - - - - - - -

He is seventeen years old and he is _not crazy_ , dammit, but the dreams are getting worse and worse and he wakes up in the middle of the night with a scream dying in his throat at least twice a week. The birds are always following him too; just last week he was going into the grocery store and he caught another raven swiveling its head to watch as he passed by. The week before that a crow had been perched on his mailbox and refused to leave even when he tried to shoo it away. Sometimes they gather on his lawn and simply stand there, still as statues.

Armin could deal with their cacophonous cawing, but silence? Of course they’re never there when his friends or grandpa are – god forbid life make it _that easy_ to confirm his own sanity. With finals (and summer) quickly approaching he has little time to dwell on it, however. He settles with his paranoia and his odd night terrors and considers investing in a scarecrow.

It doesn’t work. They still come.

\- - - - - - - - -

The air is turning chilly as Halloween draws near and Armin feels a deep sense of foreboding that has nothing to do with the occasion. The scarecrow he bought months ago was useless and the blasted birds still flock, but that isn’t what’s bothering him anymore. The dreams are becoming more detailed. Before he’d wake up and immediately forget them but now he clearly recalls a single figure with horns twisting towards the sky, glowing blue eyes set in a face as substantial as shadow.

He would be laughing about the droll unoriginality of his night terrors if they didn't send his heart racing for minutes on end, no matter how many deep breathing exercises he attempts. Remembering them makes him feel partially sick and partially thrilled in a way he doesn’t completely understand. As October gives way to November and his birthday draws near, he's not sure he ever wants to.

\- - - - - - - - -

It is the night of November 3rd and Armin is not alone. The others went home a half an hour ago and he’s been lying in bed, listening to the sound of thunder as he flips through the brand new pages of his birthday present.

_The sound of gift wrap tearing barely masked Armin’s surprised grunt. “Jean, this is …”_

_“Good Omens,” Jean piped up as he grinned from ear to ear. “A book worm like you’s gotta have something new to chew on once in a while.”_

_Armin had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying anything_ _. Jean was only funny when he really wasn't trying to be._

It’s hard to focus on the words tonight. He hasn’t been afraid of thunder since he was ten years old but for some reason it’s hard to block it out now. Reading requires a rhythm, a detachment from the outside world, and right now his filter’s failing. He settles his book on his stomach and closes his eyes instead, listening to the rain’s soft _pitterpatterpitterpatterpitterpatter **thump**. _

He puts a hand to his chest, eyes wide with shock. Had that been his heart? His eyes are immediately drawn to the window where – no. No raven this time. He takes a deep breath and pushes himself off of his bed, grabbing his book with one hand and running a hand through his hair with the other. November 4th would arrive in a few hours. Nothing bad had happened despite every instinct telling him otherwise. There’s nothing but the rain and the thunder and his grandpa sleeping soundly at the end of the hallway, so why does he feel like there’s something more?

Maybe it was time to finally talk about it, he thought, shoving his new book into his already cramped shelf. Maybe he really did have a problem. Maybe –

“Enjoying yourself, Armin?”

Armin wheels around, knocking his elbow into the shelf with a yelp. There is a man he’s never seen before standing in the doorway, so tall he nearly touches the top of it. He knows the second he sees the stranger’s face that it’s pointless to scream. He’d recognize those blue eyes anywhere, no matter how badly he doesn’t want to – they’d been in his nightmares all too frequently to forget.

“Who are you?” Armin stutters, inching away from the shelf. “How the hell did you get into my house!?”

“I have many names, but I prefer Erwin,” the stranger says as he takes a step forward, and Armin’s heart gives a resounding _thump_. He nearly cries out from the sensation,  leaning back against the wall for support.

“Stay back,” Armin hisses. He hates the way his knees shake, hates that he can’t tell whether this is a dream or reality. When he pinches himself nothing happens. The lump in his throat is nearly too thick for him to growl out, “What do you want? Money?” The sight of Erwin's controlled smile sends Armin’s heart racing again.

“Playing coy really doesn’t suit you, Armin," Erwin says with a tilt of his head, "You know I’m only here for one thing, and that’s you.”

A cold sweat chills Armin's spine. Creepy. _Beyond_ creepy really, he thinks, nails digging into washed out blue paint. Walls are supposed to make you feel safe but now they only feel like a cage. He is trapped in here with this man, there’s no changing that or wishing it away.

“You’re insane, clearly,” Armin snarls, trying to sound braver than he actually is, “If you’re looking to kidnap me for ransom my grandpa doesn’t have much.”

“Materialistic desires aren’t my concern.” Erwin waves his hand and a cry really does leave Armin’s throat this time. There is a fire burning in his gut, spreading from his core to his fingertips, and he curls around himself as he slides down the wall. Erwin continues on as if he hadn’t made a peep.

“I’ll cut right to the point since you’re insistent on denial. You aren’t who you think you are.” Armin can scarcely believe his eyes when Erwin extends his hand and a spark flickers above his outstretched palm. The spark ignites into a flame, burning bright in his dimly lit room, and when Erwin closes his hand into a fist both the fire and the heat within his body is snuffed out.

Armin lets out a shaky breath, his vision swimming when he stands up again. “A-alright,” he groans, “you made your point. What are you?” Blaming this on a hallucination or an elaborate magician's trick would do him no favors. He is a survivalist and survival means to adapt; whether this is a dream or not no longer matters. What is happening right now, in this moment, is reality.

“The one who’s been watching over you since your conception,” Erwin replies with a grin that could charm the skin off a snake, “Everyone around you was chosen for your protection.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me." Armin chokes out a laugh, though it's nervous and high pitched as he recovers from the pain. "My friends? My _grandpa_?”

“All of them were selected by me before your birth. They are all agents of my will.”

“This is crazy, you're crazy, I'm crazy for even listening to this, I …”

 _I was born to meet you, Eren says, voice muffled into his shoulder, and Armin **remembers**_ –

"You were the one in my dreams, weren’t you?" Armin’s voice is no longer shaking. Saying it out loud gives him the strength to take one step forward, albeit cautiously. 

“Your subconscious was trying to inform you of your identity and by extension was calling out to me,” Erwin says, gaze expectant as he beckons Armin closer.

There is no chance to protest. Armin feels like something is trying to claw its way out of his chest as his body lurches towards that outstretched hand. He is in a trance, he realizes distantly. He can sense the energy emanating from Erwin with every step, the way it seems to draw them together with magnetic force. When they are within arm’s reach Armin finally sees the horns curling outwards from Erwin’s temples, lustrous and even more imposing than in his dreams; the way his sclera have been replaced with utter darkness that could swallow a man’s soul, and undoubtedly have; the fine cracks along the placid surface of his face that fit together like the pieces of a puzzle, a perfect mask that conceals the demon within.

“Oh my god,” Armin whispers with horror and awe.

“No God, only me.” The King of Hell grins wider and rests a hand on his shoulder. “Only me and you, my prince.”

**Author's Note:**

> Big shout out to tumblr user kisu-no-hi, who drew demon!Erwin after I sent her [that message. ](http://kisu-no-hi.tumblr.com/post/73978991370/oh-god-i-have-so-many-aus-you-dont-understand-i-have) Her art is what finally got me off my lazy rear.
> 
> Yes, I am the Hell! au anon. :] So again, thank you kisu-no-hi, and thank you everyone that said how much they loved the idea!


End file.
